


War

by Fafsernir



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Crowley thinks, Gen, Ineffable Husbands Week 2019, World War 1, it's not good for him, nothing graphic though, post holy water incident, tw: WW1
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-06
Updated: 2019-09-06
Packaged: 2020-10-11 03:56:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20539727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fafsernir/pseuds/Fafsernir
Summary: Crowley had seen angels fight and bleed and he had seen angels fall. Yet, he had never felt like he did, lying in the mud of a trench, waiting for the next assault.





	War

**Author's Note:**

> For the [Ineffable Husbands Week's](https://ineffablehusbandsweek.tumblr.com/post/187228656901/ineffable-husbands-week-and-nsfw-ineffable) Day 5: Battle / Fight / Argue
> 
> Please, be aware that this takes place during World War 1.

Crowley was a demon, he had fought in battles before, he had seen wars before. He had held dying men in his arms, had watched humans kill each other for the longest time. He had watched angels and demons fight each other.

He had experienced his fair share of blood and death.

He had always tried to avoid fighting. Truth be told, Crowley was not known to be a brave demon. He was a coward, he had no problem accepting that. When confrontations came, he ran. When conflicts started, he appeased minds.

He took credits in humans' worst slaughters. They were good at turning against each other for various reasons. They always found something to fight about. He didn't take any pleasure in seeing them start over and over again, but he didn't have any other choice than to pretend he had started it. 

And he had, in a way.

He had given humans their knowledge. He had tempted the very first couple and that temptation had led to death and destruction and so many mistakes and so much hatred. That had never been Crowley's intention. He had wanted to give them a choice. 

Of course, he loved humans. But he hated their tendency to ruin everything they achieved. They had discovered fire to survive, and had used it to burn. They had built weapons to hunt, and had used them to hurt. They had invented ways to communicate, and had used them to spy. They had built machines to fly, and had used them to shoot. They had created faith to hope, and had used it to fight. They had created communities and turned against each other.

Crowley hated to see them fail when they could accomplish so much more. 

Crowley had seen knights lose a fight, kings lose their heads, soldiers lose their lives, witches burn at the stake. He had seen angels fight and bleed and had seen angels fall. Yet, he had never felt like he did, lying in the mud of a trench, waiting for the next assault.

The smell was awful. It lingered on the palate and he could taste it on everything he swallowed, even his own saliva. It smelt like blood, dirt, piss, sweat, faeces, it smelt like every human excrement, sulphur, gunpowder… And death. Crowley had never been able to feel death as much as here.

He hadn't meant to be caught in it. He usually stuck to administrative jobs. Influencing politicians and generals. He wasn't even sure how he had ended up here. Maybe he was trying to alleviate some pain. Maybe soldiers didn't need as much sleep as some did in other locations. Maybe soldiers slept at night. Maybe soldiers didn't have as many nightmares. Maybe soldiers didn't miss their families as much. Crowley wasn't controlling it, at this point.

He, on the other hand, was struggling to sleep, and when he did, he dreamt of death and fall. He dreamt of angry angels and stupid disagreements. Or, rather, he dreamt of one angry angel. He dreamt of Aziraphale a lot. Crowley had been sleeping for most of the past century, he had been sleeping almost the whole time, ever since that damned day in St James’ Park. He remembered the bitter words and the disappointed glare. He remembered the hurt on Aziraphale’s face. 

Maybe he was here as a form of punishment. Sleeping had not been the greatest solution. Seeing from upfront – quite literally – what humans were capable of was a whole new level of self-torture. He had never thought they would come to inflict such atrocities to each other, on such a massive scale.

Crowley missed Aziraphale. He missed his soft smiles, his familiar eyes and voice. He could have easily found him, felt him, to know where he was. But he didn’t want to. Or rather, he didn’t think Aziraphale wanted him to. He wasn’t sure what they were anymore, but they hadn’t talked in so long, and Crowley missed that. He missed it even more because they had not parted well.

He suspected Aziraphale was somewhere performing miracles as well. Crowley hoped he was far, far away from all this, but there was no chance he’d be somewhere else than in the crossfire. If he tried to sense him, he’d have probably felt him not far away from him. But Crowley never did that. He stayed in the gutter and he tried to lift the soldiers’ spirits. He didn’t tip the balance of the war, he didn’t change the outcome of it, he simply tried to make it liveable for the soldiers. He never really succeeded. 

He inspired them to write, to spread the word, to tell others their story. He instilled in them the need to speak their truth, to not let generals who had never fought narrate their own stories. He hoped that humans would understand, that humans would read those words and see those drawings, and remember, think, logically conclude that wars were not a good thing. Wars had never been.

But like demons and angels waiting for the next battle, humans never learnt. Humans looked back at history and shrugged it off, thinking that this time, they’d do it differently. They never did. It never ended in any other way than with death and destruction.

Crowley wished he could say he was fully proud of humanity, but he couldn’t. It wasn’t their fault, really, they still had War galloping her way through them, getting into their minds and rubbing her hands wherever she went, triggering some sort of conflict behind her. But even War could not be held solely responsible for every war and conflict. Humans had something rotten in them. Just like angels and demons had. They were self-destructive, and it was their deepest flaw.

Crowley hated conflict, he hated wars. He hated that Hell congratulated him for it.


End file.
